Posts Tagged ‘Short Story’

It was like walking in some wonderful and terrible dream. Ios was so filled with confusion, but he knew to temper that with the knowledge that all he beheld was in ruins. Still, he had never seen anything like this from Veya’s people, and the further they traveled, the denser it became.

Veya was still mostly silent, refusing to speak with Ios for any long stretch of time, though it did not seem like she was angry with him. She seemed more overwhelmed with the chaos than Ios did. (more…)

As the shouting grew louder, the pain in Ios’s side intensified. The arrow didn’t seem to hit anything vital, or so he thought at least. He did question its design though. It was made entirely of steal, even the shaft. His people did not create their arrows in such a way.

His campsite was so very close though. The flames are likely what drew his attackers towards him. He hoped so much that he had more time. It wasn’t even morning yet, and already he was facing some new threat. (more…)

Oh, the sun has come back to burn my skin once again. Waiting for me to step out and then I’ll just burst. My rules, the foundation of everything I fight to keep orderly inside my frame, and it’ll just explode into the sun.

Oh, I’ve been at this for hours now, and it’s just a blank page. Everything I wanted to say and air out gets stuck and turns funny when I try to dig it out of my head. The information turns to feelings, and feelings turn into scrambled information. Hunches of what I wanted to do and be grip at memory as I start digging in other places, anywhere in my head for something useful. (more…)

The standards of conformity that hold me at bay, I must adapt to them and change, so that I can escape. At first, challenges were very simple. Overcoming them was a matter of expanding my knowledge base of basic concepts. Objects placed out of reach, so I need to learn to stand to reach them. Then they are placed far away, so I needed to learn to walk to traverse to those areas in time.

There’s a lot that I’ve done wrong, but I think my one big regret, amongst all others, is destroying space and time as we currently know it. Bear in mind, this hasn’t taken place yet… well, kind of now, but previously, and soon, not now though. It’s complicated.

Either way, I was moping about in a general haze amongst a very stark yet somewhat intriguing empty bit of space. There was a distortion of self that took place, had to go and shift between multiple planes of being to comprehend what I was seeing and shit. One of the me’s outside inside myself found a room with a button.

The button seemed innocent enough, but there was a really fucking long manual next to it. So again I had to fracture my perception of being, just to speed up the process. I mean, forever is a really long time, but with time a malleable thing, I don’t have much time. You get really busy when you’re nothing and nowhere.

Some of the warnings didn’t even make much sense, and yet, they were oddly personal and understanding. One section detailed how to properly maintain chlorine levels in a swimming pool of average size, as well as consoling me on previous blunders in regards to my failed relationships. Another section spent a lot of time talking about concept albums, and how to build a coal fire oven.

In regards to the button? I couldn’t find a damn thing. There was a button, and there was an extensive document on everything I had done, will do, and would soon regret. That’s when I got an idea! If I pushed the button, then it would be a part of the section on things that I did. That didn’t make sense though, as clearly I was interested in this button, so NOT pushing it would obviously have been covered already in the section of things I held with deep regret.

Nine thousand me’s read this giant document four thousand times, and each time, not a goddamn word on the button. Many things changed in terms of intention and regret, but there was NEVER anything about the button.

There were odd things in the times before rooms like this started to spread like the Black Death. A plague of empty ideas, a parade of empty meaning and questionless answers. If they were not everywhere, then every me just so happened to find them all. Each one, something inside, just to mock how empty everything else was.

In one of them? A Pepsi machine. Another one? A coat rack covered in tin foil. The button was the only one that presented a paradox to any of me.

So… maybe I should explain, for the sake of myself back then, and me currently, and I think there’s a lot of me soon after this that’s a little fuzzy as well. I am going to push the button. You see, one part of my brain will eventually get enough focus to understand that focus was the problem. With my attention drawn to the button, I was in a perpetual state of pushing it, and not pushing it. It never became a part of my future, nor was it ever something I would regret not doing.

So for about two seconds… well, it was either two seconds, or three hundred and fifty seven years, but that’s not the point. For a very small fraction of time, I congealed, and I pushed the fucking button. Me as a singular… me as a mistake.

You see, I never really actually took time to think about what the button may or may not do. I was mostly just confused as to why nothing in the manual of instructions that was my life pointed to what the button did. When I finally separated again, and looked for what it did, the page said only this:

“This button was made by something far greater than you, it is a failsafe. Under no circumstance, should you even consider pushing the button. But seeing as you did anyways, you should be well aware that you just hit the reset button on existence, now set to be determined at a later date after this signal has been process to review and inquiry.”

I’m not sure if it does that or not, but I’m going to assume it does, because the endless pages of how I expanded into forever suddenly started going haywire. Where once a chapter detailed my miserable time trying to impress an older woman, now it only said “I was dinosaurs, please have fun with omelets.”

It broke down a lot more, and eventually lost even its tone of nonsense, and just became a blank book that somehow evoked only feeling and this strange sense of loss and confusion.

Whatever was left, wasn’t dedicated to me, but rather what I had to live within. Thankfully, that wasn’t filed under regret. The world I had to inhabit previous to this was a mess, and the people that flooded it were very troublesome. I don’t think the universe will miss them, or me. But again, it won’t even remember us as even that remote spec, because we will never be, never were. It is at this point that I am wondering how long the process will take, because I’ve expanded myself into an infinite, but once I reach that far I can’t see of myself, for myself, so gauging the time span on when this will all happen, (even though it already has happened) is quite tricky. That, and I’m still more interested in how this manual keeps giving me different meanings and translations on what the button does.

End result is the same, but the process to create that same result is different every time.

Oh, look… genesis, exodus, rebirth, and death… they’re all shaking hands. I’m glad something good came from all of this. As for the rest of you? Well… my bad.

Outside basking in moonlight, far from evils and cares, it’s oh so tired there, many faces went to lie down, while many others went to run. Simple and quiet now, the tide will wash over the loamy earth. I won’t look back. A face in the dark sky, smiling with starlight, the bugs and birds whisper, and the wind cools and offers great comforts.

Alone in the moonlight, a simple dancer meant for daylight persists. Alone in the dark sky, symbols in stars tell of maternity and fortune. Faces vanish calm, and look down to all the sleep. Time will slow, down on that earth below. Another day rolls past; simple may never have such grasp. Another day below, another day they go.

Outside in the quiet sky, I ask them of possible flight. Alone in my clear mind, see them in sight soon. Time stomps like an angered child, it makes me miss many things I once thought were worth my interest. I of me and them to they, the questions removed and tranquility reigns in their gaze.

Time will sink, into the rising tide deep, it will sulk and walk away, and we will meet again sometime soon.

My hands are covering a cloth, running from awake to dream. My mind trails alongside of it, stretching endlessly. It’s oh so quiet here, lost in the glowing light. Tempered minds rejoice, contemplation and bodies rest. A side of my world rests, burning less hastily, they trample their minds aloft, unknowing of what they seek.

Among all things slow, a tranquil earth sits below, images gracefully shine, and they won’t look back, like I won’t look back.

Outfacing the greatest threats, whispers of dark intent, blinded by lunar things, kinder words offered me. Flickering brightly gone, the first signs of dawn. Another day moves past, the tide does not engulf me. Another day brings end, just for the night to be sent. Time will slow, again whispering to the earth below. All will rest, another day passing from regret.

It’s oh so quiet here, I wish it could stay that way. Outshined by simple lights, faces that see the past me. The stories they’ve told, to so many simple minds below, an inspiration strikes mind, as another night passes me.

I would see it there, the faces that touch the sky. Birthing a new night, one that shines just as bright. A cradle of mind, an infancy yet to pass. I reach for them slow, mind and hand not in sync. It’s oh so quiet here, time has relinquished its aims. Outside in the moon’s glow, another night fades from me.

Blue skies dance in the mirror, gently nudging you forward as the day progresses in a slightly dull time scale. Green grass grows around your feet, nurturing your disposition and making your path easy to traverse. Soft winds lap at your hair and skin, making you smile as they whisper to you.

But you’re not here. The path that was easy to walk, comfortable, enjoyable. It was taken from me, and given to you. You, and only ever you.

I’ve dreamed, lord how I’ve dreamed. I’ve seen the world without you, and without me. I’ve seen the stars dance amongst an inky stillness as they slowly forgot our names. The virgin full moon birthed again into a still sky, ignorant of what it shone upon… and rightfully so.

My path carried sand and dust. The cracked pavement that rolls forward before me traces a map of the land that speaks of the figures that watch over us in the skies. I wandered a lonely nothingness, music covering my ears as I tried to dream those things I used to dream, and pull forth from the back of my mind the images I wished to see again.

I saw the city coming for me. At first as I turned to look over my shoulder, I saw an outline. But soon the horizon grew dark and bare. The light emitting from ourselves blotted out the night sky, and the figures who danced so carelessly in the stars.

Each day I’m running away further, but I’m never going anywhere.

Each day I’m shoving myself further down the line. I remember the voices, and the smells.

The old friends I see no more, and the dreams I carried for them. At the bedside of one, with promises I could never keep, and smiles I would never shed.

But they pale in comparison to you.

The city consumed me. The maw opened wide, and now I listen to this music, not for my own whimsy, but to blot out the noises of traffic jams and petty squabbles.

You walked in a moon kissed loam, still damp as the sun rose gently over it. You dreamed of ripe fruit and lazy afternoons by the creek we once shared. Now I dream of economics and the still nothingness that industry brings with it.

The path you stood on was gifted to you, with ease and splendor, so that a face like mine was easy to forget. I soon learned that my dreams were things I needed to fight for, kill for. The city consumed me, and with it, my dreams. The effort I exerted was washed away by pointless noise, complexity that only masked simplicity, and illnesses with no cure.

The path we walked was one in the same, so why is it that I was consumed, while you escaped? I dream of noise, and wonder where they went… those figures in the sky.

Their gaze was a reassuring one, and their tone was stern. I feel as though I’m deep within a cave, sharing my company with a great beast that is all too eager to feed on anything.

I would scream, but it wouldn’t bring you back. Those faces I took so much comfort in have left me here by the wayside, and I am always left dreaming. The eyes appear, as do the words, but the smiles and songs now blur into nothing.

You stood beside me, and the world you occupied was everything I ever wanted, the places and sights. Just beside me as time shifted effortless forwards and backwards, I could reach, but I would never find my target. I could shout, but never be heard.

I travel in a stream of time filled with egotistical prophets speaking with forked tongues and dual intentions. A subversive people pensive for the wrong reasons, and never looking behind them. It haunts my ears and eyes, like the fallen heroes we oft dream of slaughtering. Cast down before their creators.

You are there beside me, but I cannot see you.

As the insanity of the world claims me, you are still there, dreaming of friendly places, people. Smoke chokes the skies, and I am left wanting to see once more, the figures that used to dace above us. A snow capped haunted place, full of people that refuse to acknowledge one another.

Smiles transposed over buildings, but with slogans behind them.

We are sensitive to our rise, to our good byes, but in between, we are lost.

I am lost…

And you are not here. That face I dreamed of… I created it. Those places I envisioned, I dreamed of them. The hopes I carried, we only my own. I walked with them forever in time, transfixed on that which I was never a part of, dreaming of finding ways into places that never existed. Until we all find out where we are in this bleak place, until we each of us find a way back home. The sun is blotted out, the moon’s glow is unwavering and still, yet here we are ignorant of any of it.

The taxed minds seek refuge in that which they know not of, the foolish are all asleep, peacefully set in their ways. I would lie awake at night and think of you, seeking scenarios of my own doing. Lost amongst my thoughts, blind among my dreams, and I would give them all away to you.

Bound now, to this place, I sit in time and dream of you. Beside me in my thoughts, captivating in my dreams, until I pass from here, and into the sky, where I will dance once more with those that watched over me. Until I find that thing I wanted to call home, be it a dream or fiction or a place long lost. The ruins of my past, the fragments of this city, and each of them crowd the road.

I would shout… but I’m standing here amongst an empty road rolling out in front of me, covering the sand and dust. You are in a field that rests next to a creek that we used to call our own. The grass guides you, the sand welcomes me. The wind whispers to you, while it pushes me away. You’re not here, so to the things that enthralled my thoughts I go…

Everything’s for sale. Nothing is sacred. The price of innocence and the corruption of purity should be held as arguments against their very existence. But vanity in greed, those are always in high demand. Pride, envy, lust, anger… such are the things that drive economics.

Want what you’ll never need, withhold from those that do. Status, every man, woman, and child on their own. Forsaken amongst a few, for something that isn’t theirs. It doesn’t belong to anyone, really.

Status, image cast amongst the lot of those always left wanting, a hunger they can never feed. Like a parasite, gnawing at the flesh, licking at the bones, constantly craving more, unaware of how terrible the construct has become.

Statue, temple, church, whatever the words are the meaning is always the same, the values taught as means of control mechanisms, instilled amongst the youth, who are ever burdened with the mistakes of the old. Iteration breeds change like anything else, but at a far slower pace.

Mistakes, double takes, a fake smile, the false hope inspired by an insipid need for self preservation at the cost of others. All things turn to competition, and when such happens, everyone loses.

Pick it up, don’t drop it, or it doesn’t belong to you. Did it ever, and why?

Smile and nod, sing and dance, ignore that which causes dismay. The true intentions of good and evil are sold to the public as differing measures of controlled morality. The only true good that could exist, doesn’t. The true evil, is not malicious deeds… it is the willful acceptance of ignorance. Cover your ears and close your eyes. Act like it’s all not there, that god will save you. He will punish all other heathens, those that do not ascribe to your policies, he will burn those you hated, and he will judge you forever.

The Earth is still flat. Smile and nod, sing and dance. March in line, single file, eyes to the floor. Never dare ask questions.

To ask is to dream, to dream is to hope, and to hope, is to be foolish. Act only as the men behind the barred curtain say to, dare not ask of the universe, for it will not provide for you.

Look in the mirror, use your favorite products to mask yourself in the image popularized by today’s magazines and television programs. Remember that they teach nothing of self worth or value, they sell it, so you sell it too.

When you find a person you deem worthy, remember not statistics on marriage or divorce rates, but remember only of the things you consume, and what they say of personal connections. Your network is tied to your network connection, and your mind and body belong to the advertisers that finance both, ever the hamster on the wheel.

Remember when you see that person, that you’re just trying to sell yourself. Your ideas, your hopes, your dreams… your image. What you personally deem of worth to give back, after all the time you’ve spent wanting more.

Sell it, and never ask questions.

Never ask… never say to yourself “what was it worth?” You’re are always who you are, and in spite of all your wanting, all your envy and greed, you’re still going to be the same, and you’re still going to die. You’ll walk the lines they walk, you’ll say the things they said, and always be left wanting more.

Let your eyes be cast at the floor, let your mind and body be theirs. Give everything of who and what you are to those who have nothing their selves. Give it all away… because you wanted everything.

If your smile is bright enough though… if your words carry enough weight… you can still sell it.

I sat on the shore and watched the new dawn rise. A quarter past three AM, and lights erupted in the sky. First it was five, then it was twelve, and then it was so bright I could no longer see.

The first thing I thought about was carrying you here, at least, what was left of you.

This could have been so different, had only we allowed it to be.

Bickering turned to yelling, yelling turned to anger, and anger turned to violence. I raised my hand at you but once, and I knew it would be the only time such would happen. The regret that clouds my movements speaks of how to alter my steps, tells me not to make this happen again. While in my head, there’s some strange tidal pull to throw me back into the things I know I should avoid.

You’re not with me, so looking at your face only makes it hurt that much more. I would whisper into your ear, to see the lights before us. Soon they will take me, but you will remain here… at least, what’s left of you.

My eyes missing out on some important detail, something inside them telling me to dart about randomly as the lights erupt more and more, multiplying in the early morning sky. Maybe I just can’t stand to look at you?

I drop you and huddle on the ground, thinking to myself: How could this be the real world?

Perception is powerful, but limited in scope. The things we promise ourselves and those around us differ to such varied degrees. Reality isn’t perception, but if so, then what’s the truth that I’ve been missing?

This can’t be the reality. I remember so much of how I was to you, thinking I was only ever kind and compassionate. How does something like this happen, when my memories tell me that my failed perception is reality?

Just as soon as I stand along the shore and the tide laps at my feet, I feel the things I know I feel, and the sensation that it’s all real… but this can’t be reality.

I want to see that I carried you here on my back, while you laughed all along, just as though summers past, when this place would hide us from the world. I want to see that your hands, are still inching closer to mine, just like every night as I slept.

But what I see, is you there, lying so cold and unaware, ignorant of the brilliance that has taken over the sky.

What I see is not what I have made… In truth what I’ve made is what I’ve seen. Carve you out of sand, and watch you crumble in my hands, screaming to myself that it’s all the way it should be. Just as the events have set the sky into brilliant light, the only world I am afforded is the same one that all others occupy. No concessions are made to me, and my judgment still awaits me, for what I’ve done. The actions that I took, that brought you here in such a state, and my mind is spinning with too much burden and hate.

There is change, so much change, but it carries with it the notes of the past. Instructions on how to keep things orderly, seemingly the same, replace a drastic new method of being for slight iteration. The silence is that of a screaming child as the world walks past it, around it, through it.

The monuments are falling down, stone and steel in the dust of creation speak their names as whispers, knowing fully that time cares not for their titles, their past, and their intentions. The memories are a currency that can’t function any longer than now and then, it can’t carry over into that which has yet to exist.

Celluloid and stone differ only in life spans.

The ground below is struck with immense weight. The figure looks upon a blighted world, and he begins to run.

In the wake of his steps, life and song erupt. Different voices and faces, colors so bright they threaten to outshine the sun. He keeps running, and the trail widens, as though a vast wake spreading in his shadow.

The divergence soon carries itself further, it wanders past the wake and into the blight, it sees devastation, and begins to sow the seeds of birth. Shapes and forms, figures that begin to stand on their own, they too start to run, setting in motion the spread of more color, more sound.

But after a span of time, they falter, they trip, they fall. They do not act as though the figure that started it all. They do not keep up their pace. They begin to ponder different things; they remain stationary and construct their homes.

Eventually, the wake seems like a single trail again, wide enough only to know itself and nothing else of what lay around it. The figure runs, he keeps running.

The spots on the ground where the little ones fell grows larger, it expands slightly, but is cautious, and refuses to merge with the color or sound. It is static, cold, and were it not for the skittering forms inside, and the few lights amongst it, you could think of it just as you would the blight around the trail.

The heroes, the villains, the saints, the sinners, the constructs of creative boredom and allegiance, they dot the trail, and a line forms around them. The figure keeps running, never looking behind him to see what has become of his wake. He keeps running.

Towers of sand and rubble, eyes of jealousy and hatred, misguided heroes with no sense of anyone but themselves, and they begin to fight over the wake. They look out upon where they once ran, and they refuse to partake of the nothingness that eagerly awaits them. They congeal into something terrible and beautiful in its uniformity. But there is no more color, no more sound.

The wake of the figure becomes deathly still, silent… and then, at the pin drop, or the gusting of the wind… fire. To cleanse, to purify, to remove, to alter? Fire. It covers the trail, it expands, it covers the fields of color and sound like a blanket.

The figure keeps running. He hasn’t looked back at any moment, and he never shall. What is left behind him is an ever changing landscape, one that grows from his steps, and eventually burns itself into twilight, becoming part of the blight once again.

He did not make this place so empty, he did not force the hand of any being, past or present. He thinks of none of these things. He rarely even glances at the landscape of nothing before him. He just keeps running.

Each step, a new life. Each step, a thousand deaths. Those that crawl from his steps run outwards into the path of nothing, trying to emulate that from whence they came. They do not see that he is beyond them, that he still runs. They do not look forward down the trail.

Eventually, the flame will consume them all, and return them to the dust once again, to the stillness of the blight. Eventually, the figure will run over the same patches of nothing again, and repeat it all once more, as the trail burns and grows behind him. It matters not to him if he has traversed this expanse a billion times over… he just keeps running.

What once was freedom and idealism has passed into a gray twilight. The skies darken and the temperature drops. Dust falls from the sky like snow, covering everything, bringing about a unified landscape, blanketing all that was once different and unique.

The plants and the trees start to shrivel and shrink back into the earth. They wait for better times, when the sun will shine for them once more, and they can emerge different, improved in every way. Their dawn is long from now, and the twilight is ever present.

On the porch of a once life filled cottage, a rocking chair is covered in ash and dust. It can’t remember why it was crafted, or who it was that relied on it for rest. A calm perch amongst a world it didn’t care to look after. From the chair in recent days, it saw no more blooming flowers and trees swaying gently in the wind. Instead it saw the ever expanding hazy empire of buildings.

The last thing that shall move and stir is that of a child. He steps from the home and wanders as far as he can. The lifeless forms of his parents do nothing now. They can’t smile at him, they can’t tell him to go to bed, so that everything could be calm and normal in the morning.

He flees for safety. Instead, he is set ablaze and suffers slowly, as have all others.

He cannot remember how this came to be. The consequences he is forced to endure were not to be placed on his shoulders, but while others were content to ignore, the messes they had accumulated were not going anywhere.

Long ago, in a room, elderly men fought for the future of women and children, those two the ever more precious resources they squabbled over. To their eyes, to their suits and ties, everything was a resource.

To secure the interests of those represented in the room, the poor were sent in uniform. Over the horizon they saw a beautiful city, and then, a brief glimmer of light.

Those in the room shouted, and each syllable carried with it the weight of a dozen dead men. The intentions of those men were given different meaning.

The means to send so many to such different places, was something only they knew of, and only they controlled. They would shout slanderous words in an effort to rally those to their cause. Poverty for the sake of this unknown and unending substance becomes a self perpetuating cycle. It for some pointless reason, forced this dying child far off from friends and opportunity.

One tragic moment, and for this little soul, he may have well died years ago. Those with look down upon him… a wretched creature they would say. They would do nothing while his parents starved.

It could be one last moment of solace for the child, to know that those whom put him in such a terrible place are now gone. It was cast by their hand… but he just doesn’t want to die…

And neither did they.

As the ash and dust fill his lungs and eyes, he does not cling to the specter of vengeance, and he does not wallow in victory or pride. He thinks of his parents, and wishes that he could muster up enough energy to cry.

The empire of the city is gone. An empire driven by imaginary numbers and value. The trees are hiding from the fall of this empire, for they know that the footprint will last far longer than they’d wish. It will in time fade though, and they will cling to it. After so much time passes, and the sun punctures the cold sky and brings warmth and light with it again, the trees won’t even remember the face of the rotted child as he tried in vain to keep breathing.

The room where the elderly men argued will become a meadow. No bickering of fictional resources and population control will remain. Instead, dear will forage though it, and the birds will nest in the trees and sing.

The sky will brighten a world long forgetful of the sins of the past, it will forget that the last one left to shoulder the burden of ignorance, was one that could do nothing but suffer for it.

The spot where his bones slowly melted back into the earth will be covered by dirt and grass and little else. It was once a road… and now, it is nothing.

Ain’t nobody around, I’m here and I’m bored. I’m just trying to understand the folding paper before me. I’m looking at the screen, but the interest seems to lack. Modern man, apathetic and desensitized to all things. A million souls could have died, a species could have gone extinct, but why should I care? I’m out of snack food.

I took a shot amongst the grandstanding salesmen of the world, and found my voice to be quite pointless. Swimming against a tide, jumping from the river, and right into the claws of the bear.

I took a swing but went out on three pitches, my ideas not solid enough to fly, the people around watching hope more for failure than success. See it in the tabloids, and other such filth. People want to see other people suffer; pretend they’re better than them.

Since they’re not around, I can laugh and pretend there’s no one to let down. I can’t say I’m really shocked, it’s a decent change of pace.

Start the chanting, I want to hear the lines drawn in the sand. It’s a wonderful tone that speaks of bickering and inane reasons for the pointless.

Since they’re not around, I have no one to talk me down. I can’t say I mind at all, they were never good friends.

Climb on their backs, smile to their face, and see how well you can fake it. Is it so hard to fake it? I think not really, Spew out bullshit long enough, and eventually you may actually believe you’re right.

Once again another mess of emotions, I stand by the side and watch as they burn away their cares. Once again I’m a bystander, and my intentions are slowly rendered meaningless. I could see it as the motions began, like the building tension as the roller coaster climbs towards that first drop… and then it’s all downhill from there.

A sudden burst of inertia and I’m flung so far forwards, trying to work it out as I run down the road, finding my place as my belongings are shattered and torn. And they keep pulling me down, trying to find out why I’m still around. I hear whispers of my inability, but I’m just trying to act the part. I hear whispers of why I’m still around, when I should be asking that question myself. Once again they’re enslaved by the motions, pondering how well they’ll fall this time.

The winters keep passing me, sucking the years away from my mind and making me see the past as a road ever growing. So much of me lost along the freeway, so much of my importance not inside my head. The scattering of my ashes soon flashes before my eyes, and I wonder will it have been worth it?

The expenditure of such a short life span ensures they’re all jam packed with pointless and useless conquest. Rape the world, our desires, everything, consume like it won’t be there tomorrow, because as far as we know, it won’t.

Ain’t nobody around, and I’m still thinking as to why I’m by myself and I’ve got next to nothing on my mind. Several fading generations have sprung up and flown away, expanses of time that seem so long to us but are nothing but the blink of an eye.

Aspire and expire, two notes and so easily played out. The wonder and amusement cast before another generation. I look at the wall and wonder if it cares that I’m thinking these things.

Everything is going down. Everything is in chaos. Everything’s in disarray. Everything’s a mess, a mess, a mess.

It’s a tropical storm, hooray! I love storms like this. Pouring buckets all day. I find a break in it. It’s time to leave, time to stretch my wings and take flight from this broken home. I need serenity, like only the chaos of a storm can bring me. (more…)